


Hawkeye in: "Guns N' Brawls"

by TheWakandanWriter



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: #Hawkeye #Marvel #Guns #Brawls #Comics #Adventures #First #Work #Dont #Judge #Please #Clint #Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:54:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWakandanWriter/pseuds/TheWakandanWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Clint Barton misadventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawkeye in: "Guns N' Brawls"

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work I'm attempting to post online. I originally wrote it for RP but, I hope people here enjoy. I also structure things pretty weird as well so...

Ok, this, /actually/ looked kinda good. 

Clint Barton was dressed in his regular, occasionally washed, white (off white) dress shirt, accompanied by a nice (wrinkled) pair of black dress pants. He'd always taken inspiration from the infamous fictional spy, James Bond. 

Except alcohol was replaced with coffee. 

And from what Clint was about to do tonight, he needed /all/ the coffee he could drink. 

********

"Is there any way I can make a uh, hospital reservation? I'll probably be heading to the ER sometime tonight so, can they kinda, be prepared for Clint Barton?" 

What? It was a legit question to ask the local hospital. Apparently they didn't think so. 

"I'm sorry Mister Barton, you can't just /reserve/ yourself a space in our treatment center. We are not a restaurant. However, we do see your rather /extensive/ medical records, and we suggest you not do anything that could cause you harm tonight."

A long sigh from Clint was released as he gripped the phone. 

"Fine, but when you see me tonight, expect me to say I told ya so." Frustrated, Clint hung up the phone, not giving the chance for a proper response. He then shuffled his way over to his 'To-Do' list, eyes scanning the board of newspaper cutouts; finally focusing on one headline in particular. 

'HELL'S KITCHEN FIGHT CLUB, FRONT FOR SOMETHING BIGGER?' 

Heh. A smile came to Clint's rugged visage as he remembered the first rule of the Fight Club. Hands rested on his hips as Lucky padded over to rest against his leg. Looking down, Clint merely patted the canine on the front of his nose. 

"This should be easy, Lucky. I'm feeling extra rejuvenated after last night. Why not tackle an easy mission like this?" 

"WUFF!" 

Taking the excited bark as one of agreement, Clint scratched the dog's head with a wide grin. Get in, get info, get out. Simple task for an Avenger. Maybe he wouldn't need the hospital reservation /after/ all. 

*******

Regular arrows: Check  
Explosive Arrow: Check  
Putty Arrow: Check  
Net Arrows: Check  
Boomerang Arrow: /Always/ Check. 

The Archer placed his quiver and retractable Recurve bow in the fitting spaces of his custom made case. Grabbing the handle in his right palm, Clint made his way towards the apartment door, turning to face the dog who wanted so badly to follow him. 

"You're the man of the house while I'm gone. If any cats come in...." Thoughts shifted to his rendezvous the night before with a certain feline. "Make sure they don't steal anything."

"WUFF!!!" Came the instant response, allowing Clint to exit the door on a high note. 

**** (Transition where Clint gets in the cab and makes his way to an abandoned slum part of Hell's Kitchen.)****

Ahh, the fresh air of Hell's Kitchen. Living in New York for most of his life, Clint was hardly afraid to walk the grimy, darkened streets of the neighborhood. Most would have shat their pants in fear....

Probably giving Daredevil one hell of a smell. 

The Archer's destination was heard before it was seen, the audible sounds of music and a raving crowd in the distance, causing Clint to perk an eyebrow and head that way. As he came upon the scene, his eyes made out one figure, looking down at the fight from above them all. 

/That/ was who he needed to go for. 

Before even having a chance to enter the vicinity, the Avenger was halted by two men, who apparently had the personality of the brick wall they were meant to portray. 

"Hiya, fellas. I need to uh, get in so,-" Still gripping the briefcase in hand, Clint tried to push himself past the two before being pushed back almost instantly. The bouncers said no words, only looked directly at Clint's case before returning their stone gaze to the Archer's eyes. 

"Oh! No weapons! I should have known that one eh? Haha..." 

Awkward laugh as Clint handed over his case, which was then placed inside, next to a pile of other scattered belongings. The placement of his choice weapon was instantly memorized (seeing as the venue was primarily dark save for a few overhead light bulbs)

Finally being allowed inside, Clint shuffled his way past The Rock and Batista and towards the eccentric crowd. 

Clint /hated/ loud crowds. It futzed with his already pressing hearing problem and made things even harder to concentrate. 

But his target was the ring leader of this Brad Pitt ripoff house, and after a few pushes, shoves and bumps, Clint had reached his destination. 

The man instantly stared down at the well dressed, blonde Avenger, while Clint sized up his best chances of fighting this guy, /if/ things became physical. 

"UH, HEY!! ARE YOU THE 'BRAD PITT' OF THIS WHOLE SHEBANG?" Clint yelled out over the loud sounds and...ouch...bonecrunching punches below. The man leaned forward, a perverted smirk rising onto his visage before laughter erupted. 

He was a heavy set Italian man so he kinda looked like a bigger Danny Devito. 

"Whaddya want, Blondie, I ain't got all night." 

Clint /hated/ being called blondie.

"Look, I kinda needed to see what I can do to uh, work for you. Like promoting or something. This fight club thing could be big in Bed-Stuy!" 

This wasn't one of Clint's best plans.   
As obvious by the second wave of laughter from discount Danny. 

"Ya from Bed-Stuy huh? Tough guy right? Tell ya what! You beat one ah' my best guys in brawl, I'll give ya a promotin' job, aye Blondie?" 

Futz. This is why Captain America preferred having a plan. 

Before Clint had a chance to even open his mouth for an answer, more bouncers spawned...

Like, SPAWNED, from nowhere and picked Clint up by his arms, dragging him down to the ring, circle area just as the current challenger was knocked down to an unconscious pulp. 

Blue eyes widened in surprise (fear) as he was near tossed inside of the ring in order to take on a freaking UFC fighter sized opponent. 

The spotlight was shown on the two fighters, as discount Danny's voice rang over the crowd of loud spectators. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen'" 

There were /ladies/ here?

"I intrahduce to yah, the new challenger from Bed-Stuy, BLONDIE!"

Futz. Ok, 

/This/ looked bad. 

******

If he hadn't already thought it before, it was time to think it again. 

This. Looked. Bad. 

The bloody canvas was in Clint's immediate sight as eyes scanned upward from his squatted position to size up /whoever/ the champion was. The steroid looking muscle man was of the same height as Clint, so luckily there would be no crazy reach advantages. Macho Man's (Clint dubbed him Macho Man) upper body was strong, but one look at the legs and Clint could tell the man was weaker there. 

That would be a good place to start. 

Macho Man began to circle around, likely doing the same sizing up as the Archer had been doing himself. To Clint's advantage (thankfully) the Avenger was deceptively strong, trained by Captain America /himself/ in combat and tactics and he packed a pretty strong punch. 

Not to mention no one here knew who he was. Perfect. 

Rolling up his white sleeves, the Avenger was somewhat saddened by the fact that his dress shirt was about to get ruined /again./ Bad things happened when he wore this futzing shirt. 

"DING DING!" 

Apparently the match was on. 

Keeping his eyes focused on the target, Clint hardly expected the brute to charge straight at him, not giving him time to assume a defensive stance. At least he knew they fought dirty at this point. But it hardly mattered, as about 280 pounds of muscle crashed into Clint's chest, knocking the wind from him before his blonde head of hair struck the hardened canvas, Macho Man right on top of him taking a dominant ground position. 

Holy fut-

Before his thought could finish, the brute raised his right arm, clenched it into a devastating fist, and struck down onto Clint's rugged features, shaking his jaw and rattling his conscience while instantly drawing warm blood from the Avenger's mouth. Another strike from probably nowhere, as Clint was too delirious from the first strike to notice the second left that had struck his upper lip, instantly busting it and causing the Avenger to taste more fresh blood. 

Two strikes in and Clint was losing, bad. All of Macho Man's weight was on him, and Clint was sure he could feel his jaw beginning to swell. Something /had/ to change. It was time for Clint to get into the fight. 

Raising both forearms to assume a guard for the punches, Clint simply discarded the pain, as per usual when it came to hardened hits. The vicious strikes somewhat eased, blocked by the shielding of his face as Clint searched for a sloppy punch to reveal an opening. Finally it showed itself, Macho Man raising his arm for a haymaker right, giving Clint the chance to deliver a speedy right jab to the man's bearded chin. The attack was soon followed by another left jab from Clint, as both strikes stunned Macho Man, just as the Archer had planned.

Clint then grabbed at Macho Man's shirt (which had been tainted by other's blood, including Clint's own) and drew his right arm back before delivering a haymaker right cross, knuckles connecting directly with his opponent's jaw. 

/That/ knocked Macho Man off of him, finally releasing the weight and giving Clint a chance to breathe and groggily stand to his feet once again. 

"YEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!" 

The crowd screamed out, even louder than they were before as Discount Danny spoke over the crowd. 

" "

Futz, Clint couldn't hear a word he said. Not over the crowd. And especially not while he was disoriented as he was right now, blood still rushing to his head and making proper standing difficult. Macho Man had finally recovered from Clint's devastating right, although the noticeable trickle of blood could be seen on his face, making Clint smirk in his own cocky way and shrug his shoulders. 

"That all yew got?!" He simply called out to Macho Man, still smirking. Because if it was one thing a 'Barton' knew how to do, it was /outlast./ 

Both arms rose to guard Clint's features as Macho Man (in full rage mode now) ran towards the Archer, throwing wild hooks at him, all which Clint skillfully evaded, /except/ the last one, aimed more for his right ribcage than his face.

He'd feel /that/ in the morning. 

Clint doubled over, stumbling to a more open area as Macho Man approached again, ready to finish the fight. Clint /had/ to think of something. He couldn't lose in Hell's Kitchen. There were too many people who...

Jess was mad at him.   
Kate was gone.   
Bobbi was his ex wife.  
Tasha was, well, Tasha.   
And Barney was in his own troubles. 

/Maybe/ there weren't that many people who cared for him at the moment, but still, he couldn't lose like this. If anyone else was hurt because of his reckless mission in Hell's Kitchen tonight, he'd never be able to forgive himself. 

And so, Clint stood to his feet, discarding the pain once again as blood flowed from his forehead, a cut he must have picked up. Taking the fight to Macho Man now, Clint reserved his strength in testing jabs, carefully dodging each other punch thrown by Macho Man until finally, an opening. 

Drawn back arm  
Futzing 'Sam Wilson Falcon' Punch to the face. 

And silence, as Macho Man's body dropped to the ground.

A grin rose on the battered Archer's lips as he turned towards discount Danny, watching down from above. Another shrug of his shoulders was in order, as Clint waited for approval. 

"Yo, Blondie from Bed-Stuy?" Discount Danny called out over the dead silent crowd. 

"I don't like yah, tough guy. Kill em." The bodyguards surrounding discount Danny began to reach inside their fancy coats for some kind of weaponry.

SunuvaBitch....

********

Clint was moving before the bodyguards had time to draw their weapons, diving from the ring into the nearest cover, almost as if by instinct. 

"BRAKAKAKAKABRAKAKAKA" 

Shots were fired at his previous location, causing chaos to ensue among the spectators. Loud yelling, deafening gunfire. This was the perfect time for Clint to make a dash for his weapon of choice, however, the pain in his ribs (and everywhere else) prevented such an immediate action. Instead, Clint remained behind the cover of the raised canvas, left hand gripping his ribs in pain as he attempted to level his breath and keep calm. 

"BRAKAKAKAKAKAKA" 

More gunfire. Sooner or later, the bodyguards would have to reload, that'd be the time for Clint to move. As soon as the silence and shifting of mags sounded, Clint was already on the run, making a dash towards the pile of other people's crap and /his/ weaponry. Pain still a side thought to him, Clint rustled through the strewn things, searching for his own ebony case in the barely illuminated vicinity. Finally, hands gripped at the distinct handle as Clint could hear the frustrated yelling voice of Discount Danny. 

"FUCKIN' FIND HIM YAH IDIOTS, KILL EM!" 

Luckily the place's light bill wasn't paid. Clint had the advantage of darkness and poor sight from henchman. 

Not to mention the advantage of his custom made Recurve bow that he now gripped tightly in his left hand, grateful for the feel of something familiar in his hands. (Context)

His quiver was then slung around his shoulder, just in time as "I FOUND HIM!" left one of the bodyguard's mouths. 

"BRAKAKAKAKAKAKAKA" 

Quickly evading to the left in an expertly maneuvered combat roll, Clint landed behind the safety of a stone pillar. Reaching for the numerous arrows in his quiver, Clint thanked himself silently for packing a futzing exploding arrow. Time seemed to slow for him, (as it always did) when he drew the arrow from it's place in order to nock it on the bowstring and fire, aiming directly for the buildings other foundation point. Whatever this 'Fight Club' was, it was going down, and Clint hardly minded taking Discount Danny with it. 

The arrow made no sound at all as it shot towards it's target, even unbeknownst to Clint's attackers what was about to transpire. A brief pause once the arrow connected with concrete before 

"BOOOOOOOOM!" 

A rumble  
A crumble  
And Clint blew their house down with one perfectly placed arrow. 

More yelling from discount Danny and his bodyguards now, as the men insisted that Blondie wasn't worth their lives. As rocks crumbled around the abandoned slum section, they scattered, opting to fight another day. And although Clint didn't have a name, he had a voice /and/ a face for Discount Danny. This fight would carry on another time. 

******** (About an hour later....maybe? He couldn't tell.)******

The Archer stumbled from the NY cab, blood loss finally catching up to him as eyesight began grow weary. Clint was sure he had broken bones everywhere. Scrapes against his arms and legs were a given, and /he/ probably looked like death. Unkempt hair, bloody rugged features, white shirt stained with blood and a limp as he'd pulled something in his leg during all of his intense acrobatics. 

Still, he drunkenly shuffled into the ER, garnering disturbed and worried looks from each person who sat waited in the lounge area and even from the medical staff themselves. His bow had found it's way back in the case, but the quiver remained around his shoulder, an obvious giveaway to who he was, and what he was probably doing. 

"Is that Hawkeye?"  
"Who messed that guy up?"   
"Why is he still Avenging?" 

Clint ignored the questions, being asked, more focused on the cool air and the blurry figures of the receptionist employees in front of him. 

"Clint Barton, for a reservation..." He mumbled, a bit to himself, cocky attitude still in full effect as his words from earlier finally came full circle, as he knew they would. A tired grin appeared on his lips as medical staff rushed from the back in preparation to wheel him away. 

"I told ya soo~" Last words came out along with a sputtering cough, as the Avenger finally nodded and closed his eyes, fading into unconsciousness.


End file.
